


Discworld Sandwiches

by BaronVonChop



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronVonChop/pseuds/BaronVonChop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several very short stories about Discworld characters making sandwiches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Granny Weatherwax's Sandwich

Granny Weatherwax moved about her kitchen, preparing an assortment of objects on the counter. Granny did not bustle, but she moved with precision and efficiency. When she was done, she had a loaf of bread, a smoked ham, a bread knife, a carving knife, and a small plate lined up on the counter. She sliced the bread, carved off a piece of ham, placed the ham between the pieces of bread, and placed the sandwich on the plate. She lifted the plate and turned toward her favorite chair when a knock came at the back door, followed by the sound of the door opening.

“Coo-ee! Esme, are you home?” called a familiar voice. Without waiting for an answer, Nanny Ogg entered the cottage. She figured that, if Granny was home, she would welcome Nanny’s company, and if Granny was not home, then she could not mind Nanny entering.

“In the kitchen, Gytha!” Granny called. “As you well know,” she added under her breath. Granny had a talent for saying things under her breath that carried clearly to whoever she was speaking about.

Uncharacteristically, Nanny was still in the doorway. “Coming!” There was a grunt, and a wheeze, and a rather loud straining as of someone trying to lift something heavy.

Granny walked over. “All right, what do you need help with? There’s no call for bein’ theatrical.”

Nanny beamed, an expression that arranged itself over the wrinkles of her face. “I brought this basket, and most of the way I’ve had the broom doing the carrying, and now I can’t seem to get it over the door.”

Granny edged her way around the rotund figure of Nanny in her doorway and saw the enormous wicker picnic basket Nanny was trying to get in the door. Granny gave Nanny a sharp look, which Nanny met with a wide-eyed expression of smiling innocence.

Both women crouched, their pointed hats going one to each side by some unspoken arrangement. They took hold of the basket’s handle, heaved it up, and struggled to get it into the apartment. There was much lurching and staggering as they sought to give each other advice: “Lift more on your end!” “Bring it more this way!” “Try to swing it around some!”

Somehow, they got the basket into the kitchen, where it hit the ground with a thud that signalled that it wasn’t going anywhere soon.

Granny placed her hands on her hips and breathed in and out deeply in a way that suggested that anyone other than Granny would have her hands on her knees and be gasping for breath. “So what’s all this, then?”

Nanny patted the basket proudly “Well, I thought you might like some company for making some sandwiches!”

“I don’t recall sayin’ anything about making sandwiches,” said Granny, eying Nanny.

Nanny shrugged and winked. “Oh, you know, I figured you might like a sandwich about this time, that’s all.” She stepped over to the plate Granny had prepared and lifted the top slice of bread. “Hm,” she said.

Granny raised an eyebrow. “And what are you ‘hm’-ing about?”

“We-ell, I was just thinking, two pieces of bread and a little bit of meat don’t really make much of a sandwich.”

“Two pieces of bread and a piece of meat are exactly what make a sandwich,” said Granny.

“Maybe, maybe,” said Nanny, stepping over to the plate again and lifting the top slice once more. She peered down at the lonely slice of ham, her eyes twinkling. “You’re right, it’s a fine sandwich.”

“Thank you.”

“But you know me,” said Granny. She grinned. “I could never resist putting a little extra between the bread!”

Granny drew in a breath, but before she could speak, Nanny hurried over to the basket. “Like some lettuce! Some nice crisp lettuce always does up a sandwich a treat.” She pulled out a large, ripe head of lettuce and tore off some leaves.

“Well, all right. I do like a sandwich with some ham and lettuce.”

Nanny laughed as she added lettuce to Granny’s sandwich. “That’s right, just a nice simple sandwich. Bread and ham and tomatoes and lettuce.”

“Tomatoes?” asked Granny.

“Great idea, Esme!” exclaimed Nanny. “It just so happens that I have some here with me!” Quick as a wink, she pulled some tomatoes from her basket and added them to the sandwich. Somehow, along the way she managed to create a sandwich for herself as well, with two hefty chunks of bread, a generous slice of ham, a springy layer of lettuce, and several broad slices of tomato. “I’m slicing a hardboiled egg for mine, but I don’t think I can eat a whole one.”

“Well, we can’t have you throwing away the rest,” said Granny reasonably.

When she was done adding the eggs, Nanny pulled a jar from the basket. “Care to split a pickle? Young Ethan, the new greengrocer up Bad Ass, gave me the jar for helping him with the cucumbers this year.”

“And at your age, Gytha,” said Granny, but she did not protest when Nanny added pickles to both sandwiches.

Granny studiously ignored Nanny slathering mayonnaise onto the sandwiches, carefully missed when Nanny added mustard, and stepped outside to see if it would rain while Nanny stuffed the sandwiches with bacon.

When Granny returned to the cabin, Nanny was admiring the sandwiches. Nanny’s was significantly larger and leaned a bit. Though Granny hadn’t touched hers since adding the ham, her sandwich still managed to be perfectly balanced and symmetrical.

“Well!” said Nanny, snatching up her plate and scuttling over to plop down in Granny’s favorite chair. “Shall we eat?”

Granny lifted her plate and sat in the chair opposite Nanny. “You know, I’ve always said that there’s nothin’ like a nice, simple sandwich for an afternoon’s meal.”

“Right you are, Esme!” Nanny chortled. “I’ve said something very similar, myself!”


	2. Nobby's Sandwich

The streetlamps of Ankh-Morpork formed halos of light in the pouring rain. The night had reached the point where the previous sunrise and the following sunset seemed equally far away. Two watchmen trudged through the slick streets, trying to hold their heads in such a way that the rain wouldn’t trickle off their helmets and down their collars. One of them was heavyset and had a rolling walk, while the other was smaller, runty, and moved with a furtive creep even when walking down the middle of the street.

They ducked into a doorway that was mostly covered from the rain and watched the gloomy street through the trickles of water coming down from above them.

“Wet night tonight, Nobby,” said the larger watchman.

“That it is, Fred,” said the smaller one. “Wish we could stop for a bit, but Mister Vimes is going to have words.”

Fred Colon nodded gloomily, but made no move to step out into the rain. After a minute, he ventured, “Say, do you think there’s something suspicious about that cart in the alley across the street?”

Nobby Nobbs squinted at it. “Not partic’ly suspicious, no,” he admitted. “That’s the baker’s cart, and it’s been parked in that alley on account of that being the alley next to the bakery.”

Colon waved urgently at the cart. “Yes, true, but doesn’t it look suspicious to you, all the same?” When he got a blank look from Nobby, he added plaintively, “Don’t you think we should stay and keep an eye on it?”

Nobby studied the cart and his friend. “Yes,” he said slowly, “Yes, I can see what you mean now.” He reached under his corroded breastplate and dug around for a while, finally withdrawing a soggy sandwich. He took a bite and chewed it, watching the rain.

“Out of curiosity, where did you get that sandwich, Nobby?”

“Made it,” said Nobby. He took a bite and added, “Probably,” around the mouthful of food.

“Ah.” Colon leaned against the doorway, watching raindrops splash on the cobblestones. “It’s just, it looks rather like the sandwiches they make at the sandwich shop down the street.”

“Sandwich shop?” asked Nobby

“You know, the one we passed on our way over here.”

Nobby chewed thoughtfully. “I think I know the place you mean.”

“Yes, they sell long, skinny sandwiches, like that one.”

Nobby inspected the sandwich as though he had not noticed its shape before. “Do they?”

“They do.” Colon nodded. “Of course, they were locked up when we passed, but they may have had some left over in the icebox out back.”

“They may have,” said Nobby, remaining noncommittal.

“Funny coincidence, that,” said Colon.

“Yeah,” said Nobby, around his last mouthful of sandwich. He gave Colon a lopsided smile. “Well, come on. Looks like the rain’s stopping.”

A light flared in Nobby’s hand as he lit a dogend, and the two watchmen stepped out into the sodden streets.


	3. Ridcully's Sandwich

The Librarian clapped his hands for silence. The lunchtime hubbub in the Great Hall of the Unseen University died down. The Librarian nodded to Archchancellor Ridcully to speak.

“Right, listen up,” said Ridcully, leaning on the massive table that seated the senior wizards. The table, already laden with food, groaned. “The Librarian here tells me that a volume on magical origami has folded itself into a giant beast and it’s on the loose in the deep parts of the Library. As the most experienced wizards at the University, it’s our duty to take care of it.”

Ponder Stibbons raised his hand. “Er, Archchancellor... so why am I here?”

Ridcully thumped him on the back. “You could use the exercise, Stibbons. Do you a bit of good to get out in the fresh air.”

“In the Library, Archchancellor?”

“You never know,” said Ridcully. He turned to the wizards, who were all looking rather worried. “Now, I hate to interrupt a wizard in the middle of his lunch, so what do you say we make ourselves some sandwiches to bring along on the expedition?”

The wizards relaxed and got busy. Making sandwiches for lunch could easily last until dinner, especially if they ate along the way to keep up their strength for more sandwich-making.

Ridcully nudged Ponder. “Look over here, Stibbons. This is how you make a real sandwich.”

Ponder, who had been working on creating a balance of different types of food in a tasty, healthy, and portable sandwich, looked over to what Ridcully was doing.

“First you need some bread, see. Some people slice the loaf vertically, into many slices, but I find it more efficient to simply cut the loaf horizontally, like this. Then the top and bottom of the loaf become the top and bottom of the sandwich.”

Ponder could already see how the process would unfold from this beginning. “And by lucky chance, the sandwich ends up being the same size as a whole loaf of bread.”

Ridcully considered this for a moment. “Nonsense! It will be much larger, by the time we’re done. Now let’s see. Let’s start with some mayonnaise. Now, most mayonnaise is nasty, unhealthy stuff that’ll clog your arteries. That’s why I’ve asked Mrs. Whitlow to prepare a special healthy version for the table.” He pointed to a nearby jar with a spoon sticking out. “If you’d be so kind as to pass it over?”

Ponder reached for the jar and handed it to Ridcully, who generously smeared some mayonnaise over one slice of bread. Ponder didn’t add that he was certain Mrs. Whitlow had ignored Ridcully’s request and made the same mayonnaise she always did.

Ridcully went on. “We’re going to need some cheese. Ah, here we go.” He spotted a wedge of cheese and carved off several generous slices, much to the surprise of the Bursar, who had been raising the cheese to his mouth for a bite.

Ridcully pulled a plate of small tomatoes over. “Got to get some vegetables in your sandwich, or else it’s not a proper sandwich.”

“But Archchancellor, tomatoes are technically--” began Stibbons.

Ridcully continued as though he hadn’t heard Stibbons. “I don’t bother with slicing ‘em. Just chuck ‘em on and wedge ‘em in there with everything else. That just leaves the meat, and we’re done.”

Ponder sighed. “And do you drop a whole roasted chicken onto your sandwich?”

Ridcully smiled. “Not a bad idea, but not this time. I went and got some special baloney I’ve been saving for an occasion such as this. This is quality stuff from Lancre. You may know I’m from Lancre, so I think I can safely say that the best baloney on the Disc is made in Lancre.”

Ponder kept his face straight. “Yes, Archchancellor, I am sure that it is.”

Ridcully reached into his robe and removed a wax paper bundle. “This baloney needs to be kept at a constant temperature and humidity to ensure that it stays fresh, not too moist and not too dry.”

The archchancellor unwrappred the bundle and held it up. He was silent. It took a while, but as the other head wizards noticed that Ridcully was not saying anything, they stopped working on the elaborate piles of food they were stacking between tiny slices of bread.

“What’s that he’s looking at?” asked the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

“I can’t quite make it out,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, whose view was blocked by the tower of beef alternating with bacon that was stacked in front of him.

“Well, if he’s not going to eat it, I will,” announced the Senior Wrangler.

The Dean peered at Ridcully’s face. “Are you all right there, old chap? If you ask me, you’ve been taking this sandwich-making thing a little too seriously.”

When Ridcully had gotten over his shock enough to speak, his first word was, “Stibbons!” With that out, Ridcully visibly rallied and continued, “Why can’t I count the sides of my baloney?”

Ponder had been examining the object in Ridcully’s hand. It was hard to look at the meat directly, as something about its strange angles made it feel both uncomfortably close and astonishingly distant. “I believe it has been under the effects of--”

Ridcully sounded like he was just getting warmed up, and he wasn’t about to let something like an impending answer stop him from asking more questions. “Is baloney supposed to have sides, Stibbons? Isn’t it supposed to only have a front and a back?”

Ponder carefully took the object from Ridcully’s hand. It felt surprisingly light, like a slice of baloney, though it looked like it took up considerably more space, or perhaps the space that it took up was considerably more complex. Ponder laid it down on the table, where it looked like it might either fall off or fly away. “Archchancellor, where have you been keeping this baloney?”

“Well, as I said, it needs to be kept at an exact temperature. You were just telling me the other day that you were working on an experiment in the High Energy Magic Building where you kept a bar of octiron and a bar of antioctiron near each other.”

“Yes, Archchancellor.” Ponder’s face fell. “A very delicate experiment.”

Ridcully nodded, smiling. “You said it created a zone of completely neutral temperature between them, so I thought, what better place to keep my baloney?”

Ponder didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed. He had been convinced that Ridcully hadn’t been listening when Ponder had tried to explain the experiment. “The experiment seems to have had an effect on the baloney. It looks like it is simultaneously back-to-front and front-to-back.”

Ridcully’s eyebrows came together as he thought about this. “Well, I think I know what to do. I will return shortly.”

He wrapped the baloney up in the wax paper as best he could and strode out of the Great Hall.

For several minutes, Ponder sat listening to the senior wizards building their sandwiches and occasionally pausing to prop them up with elaborate scaffolding made of silverware. While he waited, Ponder created a simple little sandwich of bread, turkey, lettuce, and mustard.

Ridcully returned, beaming. He triumphantly waved an ordinary slice of baloney in the air, deposited it on his sandwich, and placed the second piece of bread on top. “There!”

Ponder carefully regarded Ridcully’s smug expression. “How were you able to reverse the effect? That was a very complicated experiment that took a lot of time to set up.”

“Quite simple, really. I placed the baloney back between the octiron and antioctiron, then switched around the octiron and the antioctiron.”

Ponder was almost afraid to ask, but he knew he had to. “And did anything, er, happen when you did so?”

Ridcully shrugged. “There was some magical stuff. Flashes of light, that sort of thing.”

Ponder nodded mutely. He knew that “Flashes of light, that sort of thing” was all the result that he would ever see for weeks of preparation and careful work.

The Dean leaned over to see around his own sandwich-in-progress. “Quite a tidy sandwich, Archchancellor!”

“And portable,” said Ridcully, looking at what the other wizards were building. “You’ll recall the point was to be able to carry these to the Library?”

The senior wizards exchanged a look but kept silent.

Ridcully sighed. “Well, can’t be helped. Looks like it’ll just be you and me, Stibbons. Let’s go face that beast! Tally ho!”


	4. Sam Vimes's Sandwich

His Grace Sir Samuel Vimes, the Duke of Ankh, Commander of the City Watch, opened his eyes. He could hear his wife, the Lady Sybil, breathing softly in bed next to him. Vimes thought back on what had woken him. Then it came to him: he wanted a sandwich.

He slowly made his way to the edge of the bed, moving only an inch at a time so as not to disturb Sybil. Though the mattress was soft and stuffed with goose feathers, Sybil could be a light sleeper, especially when she thought he might be sneaking off to do something dangerous.

Once he got to the edge of the bed, he eased himself out from under the covers, swung his legs off the bed, and stood up. He took his time to ensure that his joints didn’t pop.

When he was standing next to the bed, he crept over to the dresser that loomed up as a shadow in the darkness. He felt around for his house slippers with his feet. He passed up the pair of fluffy pink slippers Sybil had gotten him for Hogswatch. They would not do for an operation such as this. Behind them, he felt his old pair of house slippers. He slipped his feet inside.

Vimes bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling the floor through the worn cardboard soles of his house slippers. He could feel the wool rug under his feet that meant he was standing next to his side of the bed. One pace to the side and he found where the rug bordered the wood floor. With one foot on the rug and the other on the wood floor, he could set a course that took him right to the bedroom door.

A change in the denseness of the air told him that he was in the hallway before his feet detected the hallway rug. The hallway rug was older and softer than the rug by the bed. Fourteen paces along the hallway rug and he was out on the landing. A turn to the left brought him to the stairs. Twelve stairs and he was at the bottom.

Vimes followed the circle of the downstairs carpet until it brought him to the squeaky floorboard. The floorboard didn’t squeak; it got as far as “sq-” before Vimes stopped putting weight on it and turned toward the kitchen.

When he had first moved in with Sybil, the kitchen’s soft, fluffy carpet had given Vimes some trouble. It was easy to get lost in the darkness. With patience, Vimes had learned to navigate by knotty parts of the carpet and by some bald patches, all of which were as familiar as cobblestones to his feet.

His first stop was the bread box. Not much to worry about here. He withdrew a loaf of bread and continued along the counter. Then the ice box. He found some nearly fresh lettuce, a smoked ham, and a small stone jar of mustard. Before he moved anything, he made a mental note of the location of each ingredient, so that he could put them back where he had found them afterward.

He gathered them on the counter. Without a word, Vimes set them to their tasks. The bread established the perimeter, the lettuce added crunch, the ham provided the meat of the operation, and the mustard made sure things got spicy on Vimes’ terms.

Vimes ate the sandwich slowly. The key was making sure to leave no evidence. Not a drop of mustard fell from the sandwich to the carpet. He chewed carefully, ensuring that every morsel of bread and sliver of ham was accounted for before swallowing.

When he was done with the sandwich, Vimes put everything back in its place. A final sweep of the counter revealed no crumbs, so he retraced his steps back to the bed.

When he reached the edge of the bed, he paused and listened to Sybil’s breathing. It was soft and even. He lifted the covers and slipped back into bed.

He had nearly drifted off to sleep when Sybil gave a snort and awoke.

“Sam, dear,” she said, “I’m hungry. Could you make me a sandwich?”


	5. Rincewind's Sandwich

Rincewind hurried through the dungeon, peering into the gloom to try to spot whatever might be lurking in the shadows before it spotted him. He wondered how he had gotten into the dungeon, and more importantly, how he would get out.

Up ahead, two burning torches flanked a stone pedestal. Rincewind approached it cautiously, but to his relief, there was nothing on the pedestal but two slices of bread, some pickle slices, a slice of cheese, a pair of olives on toothpicks, and a slice of meat that was probably turkey.

Rincewind felt his stomach rumble at the sight. He quickly assembled the sandwich and placed the two olives on toothpicks on top. He was just lifting the sandwich to take a bite when the whole thing twitched in his hands. Rincewind cringed and gave a brief shout of surprise, and dropped the sandwich to the ground.

The sandwich lay on the stone floor of the dungeon, its top slice slightly askew, while Rincewind remained frozen in his cringe, one leg lifted, both arms up at odd angles, and his face contorted, afraid to move. Then he slowly lowered his leg to the ground and relaxed his arms and face.

Suddenly, the sandwich lurched forward toward Rincewind’s ankles. The malevolent food item flapped its top half like an angry mouth as it tried to bite Rincewind. Rincewind gave a strangled cry of “Aiee-ee-ee!” and, before the sandwich could bite him, was off again down the dungeon corridor.


End file.
